Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two
by MadeUpMalady
Summary: Jane is a schoolteacher living in Boston. After a run in with the infamous Saints of South Boston, she becomes hooked on the men. Rated M for language, violence, and adult situations. Slightly AU. New chapters don't get posted until I get more reviews.
1. Chapter 1

**Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two**

**Chapter One**

Jane walked through the streets of South Boston, her heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk with each step. She was walking to the nearest T stop after another failed first date. She was alone, having refused her date's offer to walk her to the stop. He had been a boor, and the last thing she wanted to do was spend her walk home listening as he struggled to strike up a decent conversation. She made sure to remain aware of her surroundings as she took a short cut through a small gathering of alleyways. It was dark, she was alone, and she was dressed rather nice - not a good combination in South Boston at night. Although her decision to take the special alleyway short cut was not at all advisable, she wasn't afraid. Jane had grown up in the city, and she knew it well. She was used to walking the streets alone and had been doing so since she was a teenager. She approached the first of three connected alleys, preparing to round the corner. She saw the lights from one of the many bars that backed into these alleyways, and she could hear several voices coming from around the corner. She hesitated, recognizing the deep Russian accents with which the men spoke. Organized crime was a problem in any major city, and Boston was certainly no exception.

Jane peered around the corner carefully. There were five men standing outside the bar. They were talking quite loudly, clearly intoxicated. She watched them, hoping they would clear the alley soon or maybe return to the bar. She definitely did not feel like walking past five potential members of the Russian Mob, least of all at this hour of night. Suddenly gunshots were fired. Two of the men went down. The remaining three reached for their weapons but quickly joined the other two on the ground. Jane let out a cry, instantly wishing she hadn't. The gunmen were almost certainly nearby. Two masked men stepped out from the shadows.

"You hear that?" one asked the other.

Jane's eyes widened. She weighed her options. She wasn't too deep into the alleyway system, so she could possibly make it out to the street in time. Or she could wait, hoping the killers would not find her. Jane chose the former, taking off down the alley. Her heels clacked loudly, giving her away. She heard the gunmen begin to run after her, their feet pounding against the pavement. Terror was pumping through her veins as she ran, her heart pounding in her chest, deepening her fear. She refused to look behind her, but she could hear the footsteps gaining on her. She cried out in pain and fear as one of the men grabbed her, pushing her into the brick wall lining the alley. Her attacker covered her mouth with a gloved hand, silencing her shout.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said. "Shhh."

Jane raised her leg up, swiftly kneeing the man in the groin. He groaned in pain, releasing her. She began to run again but was quickly grabbed by the second gunman and was thrown back against the wall, another gloved hand covering her mouth.

"Fucking hell," the first gunman muttered, still clutching himself.

"You'd best not try that again," the second gunman said, holding her down tightly.

She noticed that both men had distinctly Irish accents. They weren't much taller than her either. She guessed they were around five or so inches taller, making them around 5'10". It fell silent in the alleyway. Jane glanced to her right. The street was still far away, and she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she never had a chance. These men were going to kill her. The first gunman straightened up, seemingly recovered from her assault. She waited for the gunshot. The first gunman came closer, muttering to the second one.

"What should we do?" she heard him ask.

"How the fuck should I know?" the second snapped.

"Well, we can't kill her," the first one said.

"I know that."

"So, what do we do?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"She hasn't seen our faces," the second gunman commented.

"Yeah, well she's fucking heard our voices enough," said the first.

"What do you suggest, then?" The first shook his head. The gunman holding her turned to face her.

"You'd better not fucking say anything to anyone," he said. "We've seen your face, we'd know who it was."

He held onto her for a moment longer, finally releasing her.

"Now, get the fuck home."

The men began to walk away, making their way back through the alley.

"Oh yeah, really fucking threatening," she heard the first gunman say.

Jane composed herself before exiting the alley. She walked back onto the sidewalk, stepping as confidently as before, although her pace quickened. She felt her knees threatening to buckle as she walked. She desperately needed to be back in her apartment. After several minutes on the T and another short walk, she was finally there. She unlocked her door, closing it firmly and locking it after her. Once the locks were secured, Jane's knees gave out, and she slumped down on the hardwood floor of her apartment with a thud. She began to sob, all of her fear and horror coming to a gut wrenchingly visceral head. She had watched five men die, somehow escaping death herself. As sobs continued to wrack her body, she wondered how she had been so lucky. The gunmen had let her escape with her life. She presumed it was because she was a woman. She doubted the truth behind the second gunman's threats but not nearly enough to test them.

She pulled herself off the floor, thankful that she did not have work the next day. She worked as a schoolteacher and loved the freedom it afforded her on weekends. Still, she was in dire need of some sleep. She took her heels off, leaving them by the front door. Her bare feet padded across the floor, and she undressed as she went. She was far too tired to care as she discarded her dress and bra on the way to her bedroom. Once inside her room she grabbed the first tee shirt in her dresser that she spotted, pulling it over her head. She yanked back the covers to her bed, shut off her lamp, and was asleep minutes after closing her eyes.

xxx

Jane awoke the next morning much later than she usually did. On a typical day during the weekend, she was up by eight at the latest. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table, groaning. It was 9:23. She hated waking up so late. She felt like she had wasted part of the day. Considering the circumstances, though, she was willing to let one morning slide. She sat up, stretching her aching muscles. Her back was slightly sore from being shoved so forcefully into the alleyway wall. She ignored the pain, forcing herself to get up and moving.

She sauntered into her small kitchen, putting on some coffee. She made herself a bagel, spreading a thin layer of cream cheese on top of each side. Once she had fixed herself a generous cup of coffee, she made her way into the living room, which was barely separated from her kitchen. Her apartment was tiny, but she hadn't expected much living in downtown Boston on a teacher's salary. Jane plopped down onto her couch, which was by far her favorite piece of furniture. Her mother had bought it for her from Ikea, and had absolutely refused to allow Jane to pay her back for it. After settling herself on the couch and placing her coffee on the table to cool, she picked up the remote, turning on the television. It was a modest set. She had stubbornly held on to her old television, refusing to replace it until necessary. When it finally broke, she had buckled, buying a decently sized flat screen. She had winced at the price; she preferred to live more simply. She browsed through the channels, munching on her bagel and taking the occasional sip of coffee.

Just as she was about to give up on the TV, she flipped to a local news station. She had just caught the ten o'clock news and smiled at her small bit of luck. The main reason she even bought a new television was so that she could watch the news. Sometimes she would grab a paper on the way to work, skimming it on the ride or during her lunch break. Televised news was what she preferred, the admission of which made her feel lazy. She watched the news cast, mostly uninterested in what the anchors had to say. She drank her coffee, staring blankly at the screen, her eyes unfocused. It was a boring day for Boston, it seemed. Jane was reached for the remote to turn off the television when the newscast caught her attention.

"Last night in South Boston, five high profile members of the Russian Mob were murdered. The bodies were found behind a local bar at which the mobsters had been for the majority of the night. The bodies were discovered early this morning by an employee of the bar. The Boston Police have yet to release a statement, but public speculation has already begun. It seems that these killings may be a part of a string of murders committed by two unknown men, dubbed the Saints of South Boston."

The newscast cut back to the anchors.

"We'll have more on that later once the Boston Police release their statement."

The sounds of the television faded out as Jane's focus shifted. She was stunned. Her stomach had dropped as soon as she had seen the reporter standing just outside of the alley where she had witnessed the brutal murder. As her shock began to wear off, she wondered why she hadn't made the connection earlier. Of course it was the Saints. They had Boston absolutely riveted. They were both largely praised and largely criticized. Everyone had something to say about the Saints. It made sense to Jane that they let her go. It wasn't in them to kill an innocent person, even if that person was a witness. She had a run in with the Saints. The thought thrilled her. They were dangerous. They were criminals. But they killed for a cause. She wasn't sure what to think of them. She couldn't imagine what it took for a person to kill another so effortlessly, but she couldn't deny that she felt safer knowing that the Saints were out there.

Her sudden realization brought up a whole new slew of emotions, and she decided that spending one day wasting away in her apartment wouldn't hurt. She got up to look through her collection of movies, suddenly wishing it wasn't so sparse. She fixed herself some more coffee and settled back onto the sofa, preparing to spend the day as useless as possible.

xxx

By nighttime Jane was eager to leave her apartment. She had exhausted the extent of her small DVD collection and was beginning to grow restless. She got herself showered, deciding that she would go out tonight. She thought of calling up a girlfriend but thought better of it. She still needed some time to process the range of emotions she was experiencing. Jane put the slightest amount of effort into her appearance. She had spent some time trying to decide what it was that she wanted to do. She finally determined that she would go to a local bar - an Irish one. She remembered the dad of her best friend growing up talking about it – McGinty's, if she remembered correctly. He used to go drink there with several of his friends, and the place seemed to hold many fond memories for him. Besides, Irish bars always had better beer. Even though she didn't feel the need to impress, she still managed to make herself look nice. She didn't want to walk into a bar alone looking like a slob. It was going to be weird enough that she was there alone. Jane grabbed her keys and her purse, careful to lock her door before leaving. She had looked up the address of the bar earlier, verifying that she was indeed right about the name. She would have to venture back into South Boston, which didn't really surprise her. South Boston was home to many Irishmen and Irish descendants, and it made sense that it was where an Irish bar was located.

It wasn't long before she found the bar. It looked like your typical pub on the outside, and she was sure the inside would match. She entered the bar, stifling the feeling of slight discomfort that rose in her, and headed toward the bar counter. She was the only woman, something she had half expected. She began to regret her decision to come alone as some of the men turned to stare at her, murmuring among themselves. She ignored the whispering, taking a seat on one of the stools. She made sure to place enough space between her and the small group of men gathered around the bar. They were laughing and joking loudly, throwing back shots and chugging beers. She was also cautious of sitting too far away, not wanting to seem as nervous as she really was. The bartender, a sweet looking old man, turned his attention to her.

"What'll you have?" he asked with an unsurprising Irish accent.

"Guinness," she said. She felt the men's eyes on her. "A perfect pint."

"Good choice," she heard one of them say.

He also had an Irish accent. Jane turned and smiled at his compliment as the bartender placed a large glass brimming with beer in front of her. Something about the man's voice seemed familiar to her. She took him in, examining his face carefully as she sipped her beer. He was no longer looking at her, but she could still make out some of the details of his face. He was charmingly rugged looking, a carpet of stubble covering his face. His hair was dark brown, and his eyes were a piercing blue. He noticed her assessing him, smiling slightly. She took another drink from her significantly less full glass, wishing there was some way she could magically draw attention away from herself. The dark haired man nudged the equally handsome man next to him, and they exchanged whispers.

Jane began to feel more than slightly uncomfortable as she studied the second man. He was blonde, his hair sticking up slightly rather than laying flat like his friend's hair. His face was pure charm as he flashed her a grin. She felt her face grow warm, and she willed herself not to blush, fiddling with her glass. The bar was too well lit for her to hide her reddening face, and she heard slight laughter coming from the men.

She glanced back at them a minute later. They were still staring at her, odd expressions in their eyes. They exchanged looks, and she thought she saw concern flash between them. She turned away from them again, confused. She eavesdropped a bit as she drank the rest of her beer and ordered another. She could pick out the voice of the dark haired man who had complimented her choice of drink along with a second familiar sounding voice. She struggled to place them, noticing with a sneaking glance that the second voice belonged to the charming blonde. Suddenly, she remembered. She was drinking the last bit of her second beer when it hit her. The night before - the gunmen! These men were the gunmen. _These men were the Saints._


	2. Chapter 2

**Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two**

**Chapter Two**

Jane had struggled to remain calm as she once again turned to look at the two men. She drank in their appearances, reveling in them in newfound delight. After giving herself a minute, she placed a bill on the counter, not worrying about change as she slid off the bar stool on which she had been perched. She felt eyes on her as she strutted out of the bar. She was exciting at her revelation, and she moved quickly toward the nearest T stop, paying no attention to anything or anyone that passed. She reached her apartment in record time, sighing in - what was that? Joy? She was ecstatic at her discovery. She had now had two run ins with the infamous Saints of South Boston. And she knew who they were. Or at least what they looked like. She had not caught names while eavesdropping, instead focusing on the sound of the men's voices. She was certain it was them. Jane prepared herself for bed, knowing fully well that she would not sleep tonight.

When she woke in the morning, she knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to find them again. She was curious. She wanted to examine them some more, as odd as it seemed. She didn't know these men. They were dangerous criminals. Granted, they were criminals who had spared her life, but they were criminals nonetheless. She should be weary, cautious of involving herself. She should stay away. But she didn't want to. She wanted to know them, know who they were. She thought about returning to the bar again that night, but she realized it was Sunday. Most people didn't go to bars on Sundays, even Sunday evenings, and she refused to be among the few that did. She would wait.

She returned to the bar on Monday night, ignoring her usual rule of staying in on the weeknights. She couldn't afford to stay out late the night before going to work. She had early hours, and she was determined to keep her record of timeliness. Still, she went to the bar. As soon as she walked in, she saw them. They were sitting in the same spots that they had been sitting in the other night, surrounded by what seemed to be the same large group of men from before. She walked up to the bar, taking the same seat she had sat in and ordering the same drink. She ignored the eyes that turned toward her, taking a stout drink of her beer.

Men were always surprised by her love of good beer. Beer was supposed to be a man drink. She didn't care. She knew the two men were staring at her, thrown off by the return of her presence. She took it that not many women ever graced this particular bar. She again listened to their conversation, more carefully this time. Most of it consisted of jokes, but there was the occasional reference to work. As she listened to the conversation, she became even more certain that these two men were indeed the Saints. She learned that they worked in a meat packing plant, which didn't exactly surprise her. Many of South Boston's inhabitants were working class, which added to the rough feel of this particular side of the city.

She left after drinking two beers, placing her money on the counter. This time she waited for her change. She looked over at the men for the first time since she had entered the bar. They were watching her carefully. She turned her gaze down to the counter, organizing her change in her wallet before leaving.

She continued like this every day as the week progressed. Each night she went to the bar, sat in the same seat, and drank two beers. And each night, the men seemed just as thrown off by her. They watched her as she ignored them, excited merely at the chance to share the room with them. Friday seemed to be the last straw. She was sipping her first beer, dressed in a form fitting pencil skirt with an equally form fitting shirt tucked into it, when the men approached her.

"Excuse me," the blonde one said, the proximity of his voice catching her attention.

She turned to look at them, taking them in from up close.

"Can we have a word with you," he said. "Outside, if possible."

Jane stared back at him. The thought of being alone with these two men, who were really strangers to her, made her hair stand on end. But this was what she wanted. She wanted them to notice her, to approach her, for whatever crazy reason that she could not quite determine.

"Sure," she said, ignoring the quick somersault her stomach did. She finished her beer, leaving some money on the counter before following them outside. Once behind the bar, they began to speak.

"Look, it's becoming quite obvious that you've been following us," the dark haired one said.

As he spoke, she noticed a mole on his upper lip.

"Not following," she spoke up. "Just watching."

They exchanged looks.

"What we want to know is why," the blonde asked.

"You're the Saints," she murmured, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

They stared at her in shock.

"Fuck, Murph. I fucking told you," the blonde said, exasperated.

The other man didn't respond. He was staring Jane down.

"You better not've said something," he said.

She remembered his threat, realizing that he was the one who had held her down after she tried escaping. She shook her head.

"Good," he said, relaxing some. It fell silent.

"What exactly are you expecting? Following us, watching us, whatever it is that you're doing," the blonde inquired.

"I don't know. I just wanted to know you, I guess," she said.

"Why? Did you want us to notice you? Did you want to get our attention?" he asked. "Because you certainly have mine."

Jane flushed. She searched herself, trying to figure out what exactly her motivations and intentions were. She wasn't sure, but she was certain they weren't what the man was suggesting.

"You should come have drinks with us," he said, moving closer to where she stood.

"Connor, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked, obviously frustrated with his partner's invitation.

So that was his name. And what had he called his partner? Murph? She assumed that it was short for Murphy. She knew their names. She was one step closer to figuring out exactly who they were. She guess that's what she wanted, but why?

"So, drinks?" Connor asked. "I'm buying."

Murphy shook his head in disbelief.

"You don't even know me," she said.

Connor smiled. "Well, I'd like to."

She smiled back at him, not able to resist his charm.

"I'm Jane," she said, extending a hand to Connor and then his partner.

"_Enchant__è__e_," Connor said, kissing her hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Murphy, and this is my brother, Connor," his partner, and apparently brother, said.

"You're brothers?" she asked.

"Twins," Connor said, smiling and slinging an arm around his brother affectionately. "Fraternal, obviously. I'm the elder."

"Whatever," Murphy muttered, his lips turning up in a slight smile.

"Can we get some fucking drinks, or what?" asked Connor.

Jane smiled hesitantly. "You're buying?"

Connor nodded, flashing another grin at her.

She allowed Connor to lead her into the bar with Murphy following behind them. Once inside, Connor ordered a round of shots for the three of them. Jane started to politely refuse, but Connor cut her off.

"Come on, live a little," he said.

She stopped protesting at his words. She was slightly on edge, unable to process the fact that she was now drinking with Boston's infamous mass murderers. The shots were poured – whiskey, of course – and on Connor's count of three, they were downed. Jane winced at the burn the alcohol sent down her throat. She was reminded of her time in college, during which she had spent the occasional night hugging the toilet. The boys – as she was beginning to mentally refer to them – may not have needed chasers, but she certainly did. Murphy laughed at the grimace on her face as Connor ordered them beers.

"You all right there?" he asked.

"I don't do shots," she explained. "I'm a beer kind of girl."

"I noticed. You don't strike me as a beer kind of girl, though," he said.

"Here we go. One for me, one for Murph, and one for the lady, of course," Connor said, cutting in.

"Thanks," she said, taking the glass he handed to her. She turned her attention back to Murphy. "A lot of people say that. I guess I just look like I ought to be drinking a cosmo or whatever, but I don't think there's much that can top a glass of good beer."

He smiled in agreement. His smile wasn't as attention grabbing as Connor's, but she felt her heart speed up at the sight of it. As she drank with the boys, she could feel the eyes of their drinking buddies on her. The brothers and she were barely separated from the group physically, but she felt that her presence had created some sort of invisible divide. It was clear that this was a bar for the boys, and she felt embarrassed that she had been brash enough to invade what appeared to be such a personal place for the men.

Connor kept the alcohol flowing, and Jane was glad that he had offered to pick up the tab. She was also more than grateful that it was the beginning of the weekend. If the drinks kept coming in such a steady supply, there was no way she would be leaving this bar sober. As Connor ordered yet another round of shots – Jane vaguely tried to remember if it was their fourth or fifth round – she shot him a dirty look.

"What?" he asked innocently. "What was that look for?"

"You're trying to get me drunk," she accused.

He gaped at her, mock hurt on his face. "Me? No."

She smiled at the sarcasm that dripped off his words.

"It's a good way to get to know someone," he winked. "Now shut your mouth and take that shot, woman."

They kept drinking, and Jane felt herself push past the point of no return and into a state of obvious drunkenness. She noticed Murphy and Connor laughing at her, but she didn't care. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. She allowed herself to go out and have fun on the weekends, sure, but never this irresponsibly. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to imagine the boys as killers, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to stay stable on the bar stool.

"Watch it there," Connor said, catching her as she slipped on the stool a bit.

She felt as his hand lingered on the small of her back, and it dawned on her for the first time why he might be so intent on getting her drunk.

"I need to go home," she said, laughing at herself.

She was distinctly aware that Connor was still touching her. Murphy was quite aware, too. He stared at his brother's hand as he attempted to move it lower.

"You shouldn't go by yourself," Connor suggested. "Anyone can see you're drunk, and you know how South Boston can be."

She was suspicious of his suggestion, a feeling of helplessness creeping up her throat. She was stupid for having accepted his invitation. They were strangers, nothing more.

"We'll both walk you," Murphy said, standing up to her left.

His brother eyed him, and Jane noticed the flicker of tension between the two.

"All right," Connor conceded.

He pulled out his wallet, slapping down a rather thick stack of bills to cover the undoubtably large tab.

"I don't know," she said, hesitantly.

"What?" asked Connor.

She didn't want to admit it to them, but she didn't want them to know where she lived. She didn't know them, after all – a fact that she was desperately trying to remind herself of. They were killers. Murderers. Something inside of her told her to push past her fear, that it was silly, that she had nothing to be afraid of.

"I'll make sure he doesn't try anything, I swear," Murphy quietly whispered in her ear.

She was still doubtful, but his words reassured her. She nodded, leaving the bar with the two men flanking her. Once out on the street, she stumbled slightly. Connor caught her again, his hand gripping her arm carefully. Murphy shot his brother a look, which was ignored. Jane began to regret her decision to allow them to escort her. She was also regretting having so much to drink. She had mindlessly thrown the drinks back as Connor pushed more and more on her. Why had she been so stupid?

The ride on the T was uncomfortable. A silence had fallen over them. The car was almost completely empty; the only other occupants were a man and a woman who were fiercely kissing at the far end of the car. Jane focused on the sound of the train as it made its way through the tunnel, desperately willing herself to sober up. Her thoughts turned to the men sitting on either side of her. She hadn't expected Connor's increasingly more open solicitations nor had she expected Murphy's gentleness. Connor had seemed merely friendly, if a bit flirtatious at times. Murphy had seemed rough, having been the one to threaten her, but she was beginning to see through the act. The car slid to a halt, jerking her to attention.

"This is my stop," she said, hating how her words slurred.

She stood up, willing herself to stay steady, and the brothers followed suit, keeping in formation as they exited the train. Jane was thankful that her boots had only slight heels as they walked to her apartment building. She saw the building peeking out from among the others, and it loomed over them as they drew closer and closer.

"I think I can manage from here," she told them, smiling weakly.

She didn't want them inside her building. She didn't want them knowing which apartment was hers. It was already risky enough. Connor looked up at the tall building.

"That's a lot of stairs," he commented.

She could tell he was frustrated, searching for a way inside.

"There's an elevator," she said, smiling again. "Thank you. Really."

"Come on, Connor," Murphy said. "It's late."

"Let's get a move on then."

Murphy turned to Jane. "Be careful. Goodnight."

"You, too. Goodnight."

She didn't wait for them to begin to walk away, quickly moving toward the door to her building. Once safely inside her apartment, she stumbled toward her bedroom. She stripped down to her underwear, nearly falling as she struggled to get undressed. After changing she sunk down onto her bed, barely remembering to shut off the light. She drifted off into sleep easily, quickly forgetting her dread for the hangover that was sure to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two**

**Chapter Three**

Jane woke with a groan. Her head was absolutely killing her. It felt like someone was grinding rocks against her skull. She was dehydrated, she could tell. She felt weak and completely miserable. She wondered what had woken her so suddenly when a loud pounding sound echoed through the apartment. She groaned again, picking herself out of bed. She pulled on a pair of jeans that were lying on the floor – dirty, no doubt – and wondered who the hell was at her door. The pounding came again, and she felt her patience already wearing thin with whoever was so insistant on her answering.

"I'm coming!" she called, hearing her frustration in her voice.

She walked over to the door, her body begging her to crawl back into bed. As she reached for the doorknob, she found herself wishing her door had a peephole. It probably wasn't anything to worry about. Her apartments were relatively safe. There was a code to get the main door open, and people who didn't know the code had to be buzzed in by a security guard. The daytime guard, a kind middle aged man named Robert, wouldn't let anyone dangerous in the building. He was more than capable.

She opened the door. Her heart skipped a beat and then, once recovered, began to race. She could feel it pounding inside her chest. She wondered if she was going to be sick and if it was even the hangover that was causing the wave of nausea that washed over her.

"Connor," she choked out.

He smiled at her, and she felt bile rising in her throat.

"You look like you feel awful," he said, looking at her carefully. "Are you all right?"

"How did you get in here? How did you find my apartment?" she asked him, ignoring his question.

"The guard at the desk let me in. I mentioned your name and told him I needed to see you. He was kind enough to tell me which number was yours," he said.

Of course Robert would let him in. He was constantly suggesting, half joking and half serious, that she needed a man in her life.

"Why are you here?" she asked him.

He seemed startled by the tone of her voice and by the look she was giving him. She felt as bad as she looked, and seeing him wasn't helping.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat a bit, "Murph told me about last night – about how rudely I was behaving – so I came to apologize for treating you as such."

Jane stared at him, surprised. She wondered if he had ulterior motives for a moment, brushing the thought away guiltily as she saw the look of sincerity in his eyes.

"Oh, and I brought you some Advil," he added, flashing her another quick smile.

"Thank you so much," she said, returning his smile. "Would you like to come in for a bit?"

He stepped into her apartment, closing the door behind him as she went to the sink to grab a glass of water for herself. He chuckled as she ripped open the box of Advil, quickly downing two of the capsules.

"So, is everything forgiven?" he asked, glancing at her.

She thought for a second. He seemed honestly sorry for the way he acted the night before, and he had come all the way to her apartment just to apologize. She smiled at him.

"Yeah, I guess I can forgive you," she said.

"That's good because I was hoping you would let me make it up to you," he said.

"And how do you expect to do that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"By taking you out to dinner," said Connor, meeting her gaze.

Jane wasn't sure how to respond. Although he did seem genuinely repentent, she wasn't sure that going to dinner with him would be the right idea.

"It wouldn't be anything fancy," he explained. "Just a casual dinner at a nice little restaurant in the North End."

"Ooh, Italian," she said.

He smiled. "Yes, Italian."

"Sure. Why not? I'll go to dinner with you," she said, watching a smile spread across his face. "When?"

"I was hoping we could go tonight? And maybe you could actually get to know me and see that I'm really a nice guy," he said.

It sounded suspiciously like a date to Jane, but she decided to give him a chance. As long as he managed to stay sober and on his side of the table.

"All right. Tonight it is," she said.

"Excellent."

"What should I wear?" she asked him, realizing after the question left her mouth that he probably didn't give a rat's ass what she wore to the dinner.

"Like I said, it's going to be casual but still nice. So, you know, maybe not wear what you would to a wedding but what you'd wear to mass," he said. "I'll be here around six to pick you up. Is that all right?"

"It sounds wonderful," she said.

"Well, I'd better get going...give you some time to tangle with that hangover of yours," Connor grinned.

"Thanks for stopping by. And thanks for the Advil. I'll be needing it," she said, opening the door for him. "I'll see you tonight. Bye."

"See you then, _mo daor_," he said.

Jane shut the door, sighing. She hoped nothing bad would come of her dinner with Connor. She couldn't worry about it for too long, though, as her body urged her to get back in bed. Some sleep would be best. She retreated to her bedroom after finishing a glass of water, setting an alarm before curling up under the covers. She was afraid of sleeping too late, and she wanted to give herself time to get ready for dinner with Connor. After enduring several minutes of aches and chills, she finally fell asleep, her body surrendering.

She jerked awake at the sound of her alarm. The buzzer had jarred her out of a very nice dream, the details of which were now leaving her brain, forgotten and never to be remembered. After recovering from the initial shock of being woken up so suddenly, Jane realized how much she had slept. Her clock now read 4:06. She couldn't believe it. The small trace of a headache lingered in her head, reminding her of the hangover with which she was apparently still battling. Her stomach growled loudly, demanding attention. She hadn't had anything all day. Surely a snack wouldn't wreck her appetite. Besides, she needed to get her stomach warmed up to food before exposing it to the rich Italian food she planned to devour. She settled on a banana, figuring that would fill her up enough not to make her miserably hungry but would also leave room for dinner.

After eating, she grabbed a shower and began getting dressed for the night. She stood in her towel, staring into her closet. She browsed through her dresses, picking a short white lace sheath dress. She grabbed a light pink cardigan to go with it. Boston was beginning to cool down, and she knew it wouldn't be long before she was resigned to jeans and jackets. She decided to curl her usually straight hair into loose waves. She put on a small amount of makeup before slipping into a pair of strappy brown sandals. She glanced at the clock. 5:42. She looked at herself in the mirror, hoping that she wasn't too overdone. It was just dinner, and she didn't want Connor to get any...ideas.

A knock came on her door, and she rushed to answer it. Connor stood before her, a smile on his face. He was wearing a dark grey button up, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans, and scuffed dress shoes. It was very different from the way he normally dressed. In the time Jane had spent watching him and his brother, she hadn't seen them in anything more than tee shirts and jeans, and she had to admit that Connor looked good.

"You look wonderful," he said, looking her up and down.

"So do you," she felt herself blush slightly as she returned the compliment.

"I'm sorry I'm here so early," he said. "I thought we could go ahead and get to the restaurant, if that's all right with you?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. Let me grab my purse, and we can go," she said.

The two left her apartment, making their way down to the lobby and out onto the street. Jane noticed Robert's wink as she and Connor exited the building together. It was a longer trip out to the North End. They would have to walk most of the way, but she didn't mind. She loved walking through the North End. She enjoyed the old charm of the neighborhood. She was rarely in this part of Boston, but she relished every minute she got to spend in it.

Connor led her to one of the smaller Italian restaurants that peppered the streets of the North End. This restaurant was less crowded and less formal than all the other ones, it seemed. It was just one dining room with a small bar off in one of the corners. They were led to a small table that was secluded in one of the nooks of the dining room. A candle burned on the table, adding only a small amount of light to the dimly lit restaurant. Jane smiled. She was going to enjoy this dinner more than she expected.

xxx

"Where are we going?" she asked him, laughing as he pulled her behind him.

"It's a surprise. I can't tell you yet," Connor said.

His calloused hand squeezed hers, and she smiled. His touch was different from the night before. She felt safe with him holding onto her hand, which was dwarfed by his.

"My feet hurt," she whined.

"We're almost there," he promised.

She wondered where he was taking her but discovered that she didn't care where. She was enjoying her time with him so much more than she thought was possible. He had been warm and funny during their dinner, and she had spent much of it with a smile plastered on her face. She was intrigued by the effect he had on her. He led her inside a building, and she followed him inside a rickety looking elevator. They rode it up several floors as it creaked and groaned in protest. They stepped out of the elevator, heading toward the only door on this floor.

"This is my apartment," he told her. "I figured fair is fair. I know where you live, so you should know where I live."

She smiled up at him, noticing that he had yet to drop her hand, which she definitely didn't mind.

"Would you like to come in?"

She nodded, and he released her hand to unlock the door, pushing it open for her. She stepped inside, glancing around. There was a small kitchen off in one corner, which featured a tiny breakfast table that she doubted could comfortably fit the four chairs that stood by it. The kitchen wasn't separated from the rest of the apartment. It seemed to be one big room, with the only other door leading to what she assumed was a bathroom. Two mattresses sat against one wall, and there was a sofa and some chairs surrounding a small television set in the middle of the room.

"Hey! Connor! I was wondering where you went off to," Murphy said, emerging from the bathroom. He stopped when he saw Jane standing next to his brother. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," she said, smiling at him.

"Now, I know it's nothing to take a girl home to," Connor said.

"Well," she said. "That's good because that's not what this is."

"Oh, come on, _mo daor_. Are you saying this wasn't a date?" he asked, grinning at her.

She felt Murphy's eyes on her as she answered.

"You said it was just a casual dinner."

"That can be a date! Murph, what do you think? Is dinner and a lovely walk back to my place a date or what?" Connor asked, turning to his brother.

"Whatever," Murphy said, plopping down onto the sofa.

His glance shot back to Jane, and she began to feel uncomfortable as tension rose in the air.

"So can I walk you back or are you going to stay the night?" Connor asked her, smirking.

She scowled at him.

"I'm kidding. Come on, I'll take you back home. I'll be back in a bit, Murph."

"Bye, Murphy," she said.

Their eyes locked for a moment before Jane turned away, following Connor out the door. Murphy watched as his brother took her hand, closing the door behind them. Jane and Connor made the walk back to her apartment, which thankfully wasn't as long as the trip to his apartment from the North End. She allowed him to escort her up to her door, relieved to see the night guard at the desk instead of Robert.

"Well," he said, looking down at her.

"Well," she said, "I should get some sle-"

Her words were stopped short as Connor leaned down, pressing his lips into hers, resting one hand gently on her cheek. The kiss was brief, but she felt herself swoon slightly at the touch of his lips.

"I think that means that this is officially a date," he said as he pulled his mouth away from hers.

"I guess so," she said, smiling.

"You know where to find me. Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight," she said.

She watched him as he walked down the hallway toward the elevator. He turned, flashing her another one of his charming toothy grins before stepping into the elevator. She leaned against the door to her apartment, a smile playing on her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two**

**Chapter Four**

Jane kept to herself for the next few days, venturing out only to go to work or to buy groceries. After three days of seclusion, she decided she wanted to see the Saints again. So, she returned to McGinty's, unsure of exactly what she was expecting out of her developing relationship with them. In the beginning, she thought knowing them would help settle her mind. She wanted to know how she felt about what they did. Everyone in Boston had an opinion, and yet she did not. The more time she spent around them, though, the more confused she became. She was finding it impossible to calm the disparities between their identities as murderers, who mercilessly slew Boston's worst criminals, and their identities as Connor and Murphy, the good-natured working class boys of South Boston. Part of her realized she needed to get away from them and stay away, but another part of her knew that would never happen. She walked into the bar despite her conflicted thoughts, sinking herself deeper into a situation she knew she should be doing everything in her power to avoid. Connor smiled widely once he saw her, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

"I was wondering when you'd be back," he said.

Both he and his brother held cigarettes in their hands, lifting them to their lips at the same time.

"Doc, get the lady a Guiness," Murphy said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

"What took you so long, _mo daor_?" asked Connor.

"You keep calling me that," she said, curiosity spiking her voice. "What does it mean?"

"It's Gaelic. It means 'my dear,'" Connor explained. "So, _mo daor_, when can I take you out again?"

Murphy scowled at his brother, furrowing his brow as he took a sip of beer. Connor's question surprised her almost as much as her eagerness to answer did.

"Anytime you want, I guess," she said, smiling at him.

"How does tomorrow sound? I was thinking we could go for dinner again."

"That sounds wonderful," said Jane.

"Sorry, but could you excuse us for a moment?" Murphy asked her. "I need to have a word with my brother."

"Come on, Murph. Don't be rude. We'll talk later," Connor said.

"No, it's fine," she said. "I need to use the restroom anyway."

Murphy waited for her to walk away before beginning to speak.

"What the fuck are you doing, Connor?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together again.

"What do you mean?" said Connor.

"I mean, what're you doing with her," Murphy said. "We shouldn't even be here with her now. It's too risky."

"She's not going to say anything, Murph. Besides all I'm doing is taking the girl out on a few dates. That's all. She's quite lovely, don't you think?"

"I'm going home," Murphy said, downing the rest of his beer.

"Suit yourself, boyo," Connor called after his brother, watching him exit the bar.

"Where's Murphy?" Jane asked once she was back from the restroom.

"He left. Said he wasn't feeling well," Connor lied.

"Oh, no. Is he going to be okay?"

Something about the concern in her voice irritated Connor.

"Hey, enough about my brother," he said, turning toward her.

She blushed under his gaze, his eyes surveying each part of her face carefully, lingering on her lips.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said, his eyes travelling up to meet hers.

"Quit trying to flatter me," she said.

"I'm not. I mean it."

"What's with all of the tattoos?" she asked, changing the subject.

She touched his left arm, examining the intricate celtic cross tattooed on the top of his forearm. She had noticed it before – it was hard not to – but she'd never taken the chance to look at it up close. He smiled at her touch, watching her study the design.

"Well, you've probably noticed that they're all religious," he began to explain. "My brother and I were raised Catholic, and we've kept our faith into adulthood. So, these are our way of showing our faith and honoring God."

Jane looked at him. She had never been religious, but she had a respect for people of faith. She had never managed to keep faith in much of anything on Earth let alone anything divine.

"Is that why you...do what you do?" she asked quietly.

She waited for him to become angry with her, afraid she was overstepping her bounds. Instead, he looked at her softly.

"That's the root of it, yes," he said.

"Isn't it sort of hypocritical?" she asked, feeling braver. "Murdering murderers?"

"I guess you could say that. It's more of a sacrifice, though. Sinning to save others who probably have a better chance at a better life anyway," said Connor.

"You really believe in what you're doing," she said. "That it's for the greater good."

"Do you?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she said slowly.

"You don't know?"

"I guess that's why I've been trying to get closer to you two. I need to know how I feel about this," she said, looking at him.

"I certainly hope that's not the only thing keeping you around," he said, smiling.

She began to blush again, attempting to hide it by taking a drink from her glass.

"Can I walk you home tonight?"

xxx

They stood outside her door, the smells of the bar wafting off both of them. Jane looked up at him, feeling her nervousness causing her stomach to flutter. Connor grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss that was much deeper than the one he had given her just the night before. She melted into him, pressing her lips against his eagerly. He pushed her into her apartment door, his tongue working its way into the kiss. She could feel his hands tangling themselves up in her hair, and she opened her mouth slightly, letting him in. As his tongue brushed against hers, she could taste cigarettes on his breath. He was gently controlling the kiss, rubbing his tongue against hers, causing her to involuntarily let loose with a small, unintelligible sound. She felt him smile against her lips before continuing to kiss her, becoming more aggressive. His hands wandered down from her face to her hips, tracing over her form. She stopped him as his hands sank lower, reaching for her ass.

"Connor," she whispered, pulling away from him.

"Yes, _mo daor_?" he said, his mouth moving down to her neck.

She sighed in delight as his lips touched her skin. He sucked at her flesh, his teeth working the spot carefully. She could feel a mark forming as he continued to suck at her neck. She would have to work hard to cover it from her students.

"Connor, please," she begged.

She gripped his hair tightly, pulling him away from her neck. His eyes met hers, and it was clear that the last thing he wanted to do was stop. She could see the desire in his eyes, along with confusion at the sudden halt.

"What?" he asked. "Are you not going to ask me in?"

"That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think? I hardly know you," she said.

"Okay," he said.

He backed away from her, running a hand through his hair. She heard a slight sigh escape his lips, and she knew he was frustrated. She was interested in him. She just didn't want things going as quickly as they were.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," she said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I'll be here the same time as last. 'Night," he said.

"Goodnight."

She unlocked her door as he walked away, moving inside her apartment. She shut the door and sighed. What in the world was she getting herself into?


	5. Chapter 5

**Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two**

**Chapter Five**

Connor took Jane to a small café in downtown Boston for their second date. The café itself was nothing special, but he assured her that the food was worth it. The dining area was cramped, and the sounds of the other diners' conversations echoed around the room, creating a constant hum that forced her to pay close attention to what Connor was saying. She grimaced as one of the people at the table behind her scooted their chair out rather far, bumping into her roughly and without apology. She surely hoped the food would be worth it, although Connor's charming presence was nearly enough to satisfy her.

"Miss Janie! Miss Janie!" she heard a small voice calling.

She turned, seeing one of her students.

"Hey! How are you, sweetheart?" she asked, giving the little girl a hug.

"I'm good. I saw you, and my parents told me I could come say something to you. They're over there," the girl pointed as she spoke quickly.

Jane waved at her student's parents, who smiled and waved back.

"Is he your boyfriend?" the girl asked, eyeing Connor shyly.

"Yes I am," he said, smiling at the little girl. "And who might you be?"

"This is Olivia. She's one of my students," Jane answered for the girl, who was embarrassed into silence by Connor's direct address. "It's good to see you, sweetie."

"Bye, Miss Janie!" Olivia said, smiling shyly at Connor once more before heading back over to her parents.

"So, you're a teacher," Connor said, smiling.

Jane nodded. "I teach first grade."

"I hope you don't mind," he said.

"Don't mind what?" she asked, confused.

"That I said I'm your boyfriend."

She looked at him, not answering his question.

"Is that all right? Can I call you my girlfriend?" he asked.

He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. She thought for a moment.

"I don't know," she said slowly. "I need some time to think about it."

She could tell he was disappointed, but he brushed it off with a smile.

"So, what do you think you're going to get?"

xxx

"Murphy!"

He turned in surprise at the sound of his name. Jane couldn't help herself. She grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. She and Connor had decided to go out for drinks after their dinner, which had been surprisingly pleasant despite the environment of the small café.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Connor told me you weren't feeling well last night."

"Did he?" Murphy mused, shooting a look at his brother.

"Are you up for a beer?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Of course."

"You guys order a round. I'll be right back."

Jane left the bar, heading for the small hallway off to the side that housed the restrooms. She had the feeling that she had embarrassed Murphy with her hug, but she couldn't hold it back. She was excited to see him. She had missed him in the small amount of time she had not seen him, which surprised her. It hadn't been long at all since she had spent time with him. She shrugged it off. It was in her nature to care for those around her when they're not feeling well, and she attributed her happiness at the sight of Murphy to that. She quickly checked her appearance in the dingy sink mirror before leaving the restroom.

"Oh, hey, Murphy," she said, narrowly dodging him. "Sorry if the hug was a little too much-"

She was cut off as he grabbed her, pushing her into the wall roughly.

"Murphy-"

His lips smashed against hers aggressively. All of the roughness she remembered from the night of the murders manifested itself in his kiss. She barely had time to respond before he pulled away. As he eased off her, she realized how tightly they had been pressed together and felt her face flush. She opened her mouth to speak, but Murphy brushed past her into the men's room. Jane was stunned. She stood in the hallway, unable to move. What the hell had that been? She pulled herself together, finally moving toward the bar.

"Here you go," Connor said, handing her a beer.

She tried to keep her composure as she took the beer, realizing that her hands were shaking. This was becoming quite the bad habit for her. She usually didn't spend time in bars, but here she was spending almost every night out drinking, albeit lightly. She was glad that she was at least maintaining some semblance of responsibility. She did have work in the morning, after all. Murphy returned to the bar, picking up his drink. She looked at him, and he stared back at her, his blue eyes sending chills down her spine.

"I realized I never asked you, but how long have you been teaching?" Connor asked, his question snapping her back to attention.

"Only two years," she said, smiling. "But I've been in love with it since I started."

"So that means you're still pretty young, huh?"

"I'm only twenty-three," she said, taking a sip of her beer.

"You're a youngin'," said Connor.

"Oh? How old are you two?" she asked.

"Thirty," said Murphy.

"Seven years' difference isn't that bad," she scoffed.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way," Connor said, sliding an arm around her waist.

Jane was discovering that she didn't like the way Connor seemed to flaunt whatever it was that was going on between the two of them around Murphy. She could always sense the tension that it created, and she hated being the one causing it. She wondered if Connor even noticed Murphy's reactions, and she hoped that his ignorance was the case. She also hoped that she was completely wrong about the situation and was simply misreading it. Although she enjoyed her time with Connor, she was beginning to wish that she had never gotten close to the brothers.

"When can I expect an answer?" Connor murmured in her ear.

She was puzzled for a second but then remembered what he'd said at dinner. She did not want to think about giving him an answer anytime soon. Her feelings toward the brothers had become so confused and convoluted that she did not wish to even try to untangle them. She only wanted to get away. She felt his breath tickling her ear and her frustrations rising.

"Please, Connor, not here," she whispered.

Her eyes flashed to Murphy, who was doing his best to listen without looking as though he actually were. Connor backed away from her, his arm unwrapping itself from around her waist, and left a rather large amount of space between them. Jane knew this was a sign of frustration, but she didn't care. She was growing tired of dealing with the entire situation.

"I think I'm going to head home. I've got work in the morning, and it's getting kind of late for me," she said.

"Let me walk you home," Connor said eagerly.

"No, thank you," she said. "I don't want to trouble you. Stay here with Murphy. I'll see you two later."

She could read the disappointment on Connor's face but ignored it, paying for her drink and then leaving the bar. She needed a break from the boys. She needed time to think and process what exactly was going on. She wondered desperately why she had allowed herself to become so involved with them.

"What the fuck was that about?" Connor said to himself.

Murphy watched his brother carefully as he turned to face him.

"I swear. I don't know why things have been so fucking difficult with that girl. It's been going great!" Connor sighed. "You know, I asked her if I could call her my girlfriend, and she said no. What girl doesn't want that?"

"I don't know. I guess her. She is still young," Murphy said.

"Yeah, but why wouldn't she want a boyfriend? It doesn't have to be a permanent commitment. And I doubt she's seeing any other guys," said Connor.

"How do you know? She's a pretty girl, like you said."

Connor bristled slightly at his brother's words but kept himself in check. He didn't like the sound of Murphy's voice as he called Jane pretty.

"She's not seeing any other guys – or at least not giving them any action. I can tell by the way she kisses. She hasn't gotten any in a while," Connor said.

It was Murphy's turn to bristle, and the two fell silent. They sat and finished their beers before Connor spoke back up.

"In any case, she won't hold out for much longer. I can feel it."


End file.
